


The Weight of Another

by Fuzzball457



Series: The Bartender AU No One Asked For [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: A little angst, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bartender John, College student Alex, Domestic Fluff, Game Night, Gen, M/M, Philip is Alex's bro, References to Drugs, References to overdosing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 06:56:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17761976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuzzball457/pseuds/Fuzzball457
Summary: “That night,” he begins, knowing John needs no further elaboration on which night, “you knew. Right away you knew what was going on. And you knew exactly how to handle it.”Alex has a few questions for John about his surprising knowledge of drug use.





	The Weight of Another

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fredandgeorgerule](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredandgeorgerule/gifts).



> Good lord does anyone still remember this AU? Anyway, here's a little ditty that was requested by fredandgeorgerule that explores how John knew what to do when Philip was ODing. I have no idea if I'll write anything else in this verse, but there's always hope *shrugs*. 
> 
> ALSO I now have a tumblr. Come throw prompts and say hi @rose-of-tori. Anyone who knows me knows I'll gladly chat with anyone about pretty much anything so hit me up!

“So, are we going to talk about it?”

“Talk about it?” John asks curiously, looking up from the browning ground turkey he’s stirring. “Alex, we’ve done nothing but talk about it.”

“Not that,” he corrects. He glances down to the vegetables he’s chopping for their tacos, unable to sustain John’s gaze.

Indeed, they have talked about Philip extensively. They’ve talked about new boundaries and new rules. They’ve established back-up plans and mutual agreements. Mostly it involves more check-ins regarding where and who Philip is out with and how long he’ll be there. It also involves an anonymous community support group, with the understanding that rehab will be involved if there are any slip-ups.

And also there’s communication.

Lots of it.

To John and Philip’s annoyance, Alex had immediately loaned a book from the library on how to deal with a family member struggling with addiction. Expressions like ‘use I phrases’ and ‘is this what you mean when you say…’ fall from his mouth with a regularity that he knows irritates everyone around him. But there’s no room for error or miscommunication. They need to be on the same page and Alex will do what it takes to keep them there.

He tries to make more time to hang out with Philip. To his surprise, that doesn’t necessarily mean less time with John. His two goofs get along swimmingly, perhaps even more than Alex would prefer as they seem to constantly be conspiring against him in some plot or another.

(He hopes they both realize that every plastic snake that shows up in the shower or in his bed is being carefully collected for revenge at a later date.)

(It will be epic.)

What they haven’t talked about is John.

It’s been a blur of a month, from a long and very overdue discussion with Philip to an unstated, unofficial move-in of John. Alex bought a large, desk-sized calendar to hang on the wall for the three of them and already it’s filled with scribbles and arrows, each color coordinated to one of them.

So far, things are running smoothly.

There is one lingering thought, however, that Alex knows needs addressing.

“That night,” he begins, knowing John needs no further elaboration on which night, “you knew. Right away you knew what was going on. And you knew exactly how to handle it.”

He forces himself to look up, face carefully open and casual. The kitchen lights feel overly bright all of a sudden, as if it were actually stage lights screwed into their ceiling. John’s eyes have dipped back to the stovetop as if his hand may fly off if he doesn’t visually ensure it continues to prod the sufficiently prodded meat.

“Yeah, well.” He shrugs.

“That’s not common knowledge, John,” he says flatly. He looks down to check on his progress only to realize he’s run out of lettuce and is currently chopping the un-choppable plastic sleeve it came in. Maybe it’s best not to be holding a knife while having deep, potentially personal conversations, he decides.

“I’m sure loads of people know that.”

“I don’t want to know about loads of people. I’m asking about you.”

“I don’t recall you actually asking a question at all.” He’s still looking down, directing his increasing snippiness to the turkey.

Alex takes a breath.

“John. This isn’t an interrogation,” he clarifies.

Clarity is key, the book says. What are your intentions? What are you trying to convey? Choose each word meaningfully and carefully.

Just because John isn’t the addict in his life doesn’t mean that a little improvement in communication is a bad thing.

He continues, “I’m just curious. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.”

Finally John meets his gaze. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.”

It doesn’t matter if it’s not what he wants to hear. It doesn’t matter if it hurts to hear it. No is the end of the story.

 

The question lingers in Alex’s mind regardless. He has the keen suspicion that John’s knowledge can only come from firsthand experience, either for himself or someone close to him. He doesn’t want to pry, but it’s unsatisfying to let suspicions be unconfirmed. It’s not that it would change his perception of John, it’s that not knowing is leaving him constantly looking for tiny clues hinting one way or another, which leaves him distracted from the actual conversation or moment at hand.

He knows John notices the lingering looks here and there and the sudden uptake in vague personal questions that try to wheedle information without directly asking. That’s fine, Alex isn’t hiding. Maybe eventually his persistence will wear John down if he knows Alex is still thinking about it.

Oddly, there is no chapter in the book entitled “How to Annoy People into Telling You What You Want to Hear”. But that’s okay, Alex is a writer.

 

Surprisingly, it’s neither John nor Alex who cracks first.

“Oh, for the love of God,” Philip hisses, slamming his little metal iron up and down on the Monopoly board. “I’ve landed on your Pennsylvania Avenue, _which has a hotel on it_ , twice now, Alex, and you haven’t charged me a dime. It’s no fun trying to cheat you when you’re oblivious!”

Of all the things to change when his boyfriend moved in, Alex did not expect the development of a regularly occurring game night to be one of them. But all three of them are highly competitive and it’s a surprisingly good way to spend an evening, even as Philip constantly attempts to good-naturedly swindle them any which way he can. They have two bottles of sparkling grape juice in the fridge – Alex was pleased to find John has a deep love of the stuff, owing to it being the drink of choice for children at the many upper class parties John attended as the child of a senator – and more often than not the conversation flows easily. There is something about being in a dim living room with candles, sparkling juice, and a board game that seemed to inspire languid honesty.

At Philip’s outburst, John freezes in his money rearranging and Alex whips his gaze around to pretend he was not staring at John.

“Look,” Philip says to John while shoving random bits of money at Alex, “you’re basically part of the family at this point, right?” Philip continues despite how Alex and John both fumble what they’re holding at his statement. “So will you just tell us your bleeding heart, kicked puppies backstory already? We can’t go on. Alex on a hunt is insufferable. Put the poor man out of his misery for God’s sake.”

John blinks at him, not quite caught up with the moment, while Alex tries to engage Philip in an eyebrow conversation about being sensitive. Philip’s flat stare suggests he’s not quite receiving Alex’s message.

“It’s fine if you don’t want to say,” Alex say gently, resting a hand on John’s knee.

“It’s not…you know, like that…” John says hesitantly, still staring at Philip’s blank face. He seems entirely unaware of Alex’s comforting hold or the intense ‘shh, child, it’s okay’ gaze Alex is sending him. “It’s not some tragic Shymalan-level backstory. My roommate, when I first moved to New York. He and his girlfriend did a lot of coke. And they were reckless about it. They never cared if they came close to overdosing, but it used to freak me out so much. I’d hear them up all hours of the night, but when I woke up…always silence. And every time I came out of my room I’d think, this is it. This time I’m going to find them dead.”

Alex can recall the day with agonizing clarity. The moment when he’d gone into his ailing mother’s room, a steaming bowl of soup clutched in his slender hands, a platitude on his lips…She looked like a doll. Unearthly in her pale complexion and unreal in her stiff posture and unseeing eyes. There was a moment, just the briefest of seconds, before he got a glimpse…that limbo between knowing something’s wrong and realizing what it is…that moment before he could see her frail body when he knew. He knew she was dead. He knew his world had just shifted irrevocably. He remembers calling for Philip in a flat, detached voice. Philip, gangly in a way only thirteen year old boys can be, appeared at his side in the doorway. He remained impassive at Alex’s side as they stared at the dead doll in their mother’s bed, head mercifully turned away. 

“Mom’s dead,” Alex said flatly, passing the bowl of soup to Philip like it was the passage to the unforgiving reality they now found themselves in.

“Oh,” was all he said.

“Come on. Let’s call the police,” Alex said, pulling the door shut behind him as he steered Philip away, the bowl of soup still cradled nonsensically in his young hands.

In the present, Philip nudges him, and Alex is drawn back to the moment, where John is staring curiously at him.

“He found our mom,” Philip says softly, when no explanation is forthcoming from Alex.

“I’m so sorry,” John offers, voice a gentle silk. He can see it in his eyes. Not pity, but a sorrow on Alex’s behalf.

Alex glances over at Philip, who somehow looks small and unsure despite his usually demanding presence. Unbidden, a grin slips onto Alex’s face.

“No, it’s okay.” He tugs Philip, who comes easily despite his façade of protestation, until he’s leaning up against Alex. Staring into those honey-brown eyes, Alex declares, “It’s important to remember those we love.” Philip ducks to hide his wet eyes but lets Alex crush him to his side for another moment.

“I’d like to hear about her someday,” John says, drawing Alex’s gaze to meet his. John also lost his mother, Alex recalls.

“I’d like that,” he agrees softly.

“What happened?” Philip pipes up from his spot buried in Alex’s sweatshirt, “To your roommate?”

John leans back on his arms, stretching his body out and letting his secrets slip unhindered into the air. “Well, I looked it all up, you know. All about cocaine overdoses and I learned everything I could. They came close a time or two. She always woke up laughing, ready to do it all over again as soon as they could get their hands on some. Until one day, they got a shit ton of the stuff. I honestly don’t know where from. Maybe they robbed a dealer or found a dead drug mule or who knows. Anyway, that time…she wouldn’t wake up.

“I remember walking out of my room into the bathroom. He was in the kitchen cooking God-only-knows what, chattering a mile a minute and unaware she wasn’t replying. And there she was, half in the hallway, half in the bathroom. I couldn’t seem to find a pulse, her arm was…stiff. But she was hot to the touch. I started yelling for Rudy, but he just kept saying it was fine, she’d be fine. But somehow I knew this wasn’t like those other times. So I called 911.”

John isn’t look at either of them anymore. His gaze is floating along the opposite wall, like a diagram of his life story is there. It’s strange to realize, but Alex has only known John for a little while. Not quite a year. Barely a notable fraction of his life. There’s so much Alex doesn’t know. He gets glimpses not and then, little crumbs of John’s past, but there’s still more than two decades of their separate lives. It doesn’t feel like it. It’s as if they’ve known each other forever.

It’s okay. They have the rest of forever to catch up, to build new histories, ones that intertwine.

“She lived, as far as I know, but Rudy was charged with intent to distribute, because he had so much. I didn’t get in trouble. The Good Samaritan Law and all that. Besides, they couldn’t prove I used or had any knowledge they were using. Rudy was furious at me, but he never sold me out. He could have easily claimed I did it with them, but he always stuck to the story that they only used when I was gone.”

“He must have cared quite a bit for you,” Alex offers, but John just shakes his head, hair flopping with the motion. His face is downturned and clouded, like even he’s hearing the story for the first time.

“That’s the thing. I don’t know that he did. We were never close. The one time I went to see him in prison, he was still mad. He told me I should have “let the bitch die”. And that’s when I realized that he didn’t care about anyone as much as he cared about drugs. I’ve never understood why he didn’t throw me under the bus.”

“I’m glad he didn’t.” John finally looks up to meet Alex’s gaze.

“Me too,” Philip adds. “It’s much more satisfying to cheat when there’s two of you to dupe.”

John barks out a laugh, but Alex knows better. He scans the board immediately until he spots it. “You know, _Philip,_ I don’t recall there being a hotel on Atlantic Avenue.”

-

“I’m sorry about your roommate,” Alex says out of the blue as John is brushing his teeth. Alex leans against the doorframe in just his pajama bottoms. John just shrugs, even as little trails of bubbly toothpaste begin to leak from the corners of his mouth. John is one of those heathens that brushes their teeth with their mouth open. Not like Alex, who has the dignity to close his lips around the toothbrush handle and jam the thing painfully against his cheek to reach the back teeth.

“Don’t sweat it,” he answers after he spits. He drags the back of his hand across his mouth before adding, “It’s in the past. ‘Sides, it feels good knowing that it ended up helping someone in the long run.”

A thank you is on the tip of Alex’s lips. Despite what he’d yelled at John in the kitchen that night, he knows he owes Philip’s life to John. And he’s so, so grateful. So grateful, in fact, that’s taken to thanking John whenever the thought crosses his mind.

Apparently, the thought crosses his mind more often than John appreciates.

“Enough thank-yous,” he’d growled one day, after Alex had stopped by the bar on his way home just to thank John, who was apparently not in the mood to receive gratitude as he mopped up vomit off the floor. “You don’t owe me a life debt or some shit like that. Jeez.”

“Well I’m glad some good could come out of it,” Alex says instead of another thank you. John tilts his head curiously and looks Alex over slowly. It makes him feel self-conscious. He’s not pudgy, but there’s no muscle to be found on his bare chest. Not like John, who, Alex was appalled to discover, _enjoys_ working out.

Is that a thing humans can feel? Enjoyment out of exercise? How odd.

But John doesn’t seem to find fault in the flat planes of Alex’s olive skin. His hand comes up to run reverently along Alex’s cheek.

“I’m glad I ended up here,” John says, no hesitation, no reluctance. He’s sincere.

With John’s arm so close to his face, Alex could see the little slivers of shiny scar tissue that still decorate John’s arm. He _could_ see, if he looked. He doesn’t though. He’s too busy staring straight into John’s eyes, which dance between hazel and auburn in that mischievous way of theirs. So Alex doesn’t look at the scars.

John doesn’t either. He’s too busy staring right back.

“Me too.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Reading old reviews literally brought me back to the FF world. So pretty please with sprinkles drop me a line and tell me what you thought. Love to you all :D


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